“Two problems, twelve points each, that’s twenty-four points.”
“I might fail.”
The more she spoke, the more visibly she trembled, the corners of her eyes turning red: “Why did I leave two problems blank? I reviewed these problems during my study sessions.”
“Why couldn’t I write them out? Why did I forget during the exam…”
Chi Yao stood in front of her desk, reached over to grab some tissues from someone else’s desk, and bent down close to her.
The distance between them was very short.
He was practically leaning in front of her, wiping her tears.
The tissue was as gentle as his movements.
“Stop crying,” he said, “Which two problems did you leave blank?”
With blurry vision, Lin Zhexia said: “The second-to-last one.”
Chi Yao made an “mm” sound and asked: “What else?”
Lin Zhexia: “And the third-to-last one.”
As her tears were wiped away, Lin Zhexia’s vision gradually cleared.
She could see Chi Yao’s school uniform, his face leaning very close after bending down, his seemingly accentuated eyebrows and eyes, his downcast gaze, and the deep look he gave her.
“I’ll explain them to you when we get back.”
He said, “Then you won’t make the same mistakes next time, okay?”
Lin Zhexia nodded.
At the same time, she realized with absolute clarity.
They had known each other for too long. So long that no one would ever think in that direction.
They were closer than anyone else in the world, yet the furthest from the word “like.”
Seeing that she had stopped crying, Chi Yao handed her the tissues and asked: “Have you packed your things?”
Lin Zhexia shook her head: “Not yet.”
“When you’re done crying, sit over there.”
After she moved to Chen Lin’s seat, Chi Yao began packing her schoolbag, asking as he packed: “Do you need this? What about this? Got everything, anything else?”
Lin Zhexia pointed at the desk drawer: “There’s still a set of math papers.”
The remaining sunset light shone through the classroom windows, falling on both of them.
This scene felt familiar.
Lin Zhexia recalled that when she was very young, there was once a similar moment.
She had been called to the teacher’s office and scolded for chatting with her deskmate during class. When she came out of the office crying, she saw Chi Yao waiting for her in the empty classroom, packing her pencil case while he waited.
The childhood scene gradually overlapped with the current one.
Lin Zhexia suddenly called out to him: “Chi Yao.”
Chi Yao was crouching down, his hand paused while packing her pencil case, his throat moving slightly: “Did you forget something else?”
“No,” Lin Zhexia’s voice was still a bit hoarse from crying, “I just felt like calling your name.”
At seventeen, Lin Zhexia had found someone she liked.
However, this age was too immature to properly handle such feelings.
And more difficult than being seventeen was the fact that the person she fell for was her best friend since childhood.
He was someone she couldn’t risk any mistakes with, couldn’t afford to lose, and absolutely shouldn’t have fallen for.